KNM’s workday ended at 5:30 p.m. Eri, Segawa, Kurishiro, and I left on time and were at the gallery by 6 p.m. I’d already known it was close by when I’d seen the address on the ad, but chatting about this and that on the way made it feel as if we’d arrived in no time at all.
The building stood out with its pure-white walls. At first glance, it looked like a café. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the sign that said “Animal Art Exhibition.”
Just as Eri was about to open the door, she turned around and said, “Um, I want to surprise my friend, so is it okay if we don’t mention Kurishiro’s position for a while?”
“Got it.” Kurishiro smiled.
We stepped into the gallery. As Eri had explained, all of the works were of animals. Some were realistic, some had a fairy-tale look, and some depicted only the patterns of giraffes or zebras. I gazed at them, fascinated.
Kurishiro hummed in amusement. “Animal paintings are quite popular. Like Rosetsu Nagasawa’s Puppies and Chrysanthemums or Kocho Ueda’s Puppy.”
“Torarin was based on a cute animal painting too, right?” I asked. “Korin Ogata’s Tiger and Bamboo.”
“That’s right.” Kurishiro chuckled.
Torarin was KNM’s official mascot and PR ambassador. It was based on Tiger and Bamboo, a painting of a tiger by Korin Ogata. Its official name was Rinnojo Kogata.
Eri’s paintings used translucent watercolors and mainly depicted animals from the Kyoto City Zoo. One had four elephants playing together, while another had sleeping tigers.
“Kimura’s gentle and earnest nature comes through in her work,” Kurishiro remarked.
I felt the same way. Eri’s paintings had a very soft and careful touch. She was serious about the animals and tried to depict them with sincerity.
As we were browsing the artwork, a bespectacled man in a suit entered the gallery without hesitation. He looked as if he had just left work. As soon as he saw the exhibition, he groaned and facepalmed.
“Hey, Ikumi!” he called out.
“Coming!” A gentle-looking young woman with a bob cut came out from the back of the gallery. Presumably, she was the friend Eri had been talking about. “Oh, welcome, Suzuki. Thank you as always.” She bowed to the man.
“Don’t give me that. Didn’t I tell you to change how the paintings are arranged? They’re the same as before. You can’t just hang them up next to each other. You have to create a visual flow for the eye to follow. I’m saying this because I recognize your talent, you know?” He sighed, exasperated.
“Oh...yes, your opinion was very helpful. But personally, I felt that they should be arranged this way.” As an artist, Ikumi must have had her own beliefs about how to display her work.
“You felt that way?” The man scratched his head. “Don’t you want to be more famous? You can’t keep thinking like an amateur forever.”
Who does this person think he is? I was lost for words.
Eri came up to us and whispered, “That’s Suzuki, my friend’s devoted fan. He’s been buying her paintings and helping her find galleries, but at some point, he started meddling with her work and displays.”
“Huh? Is he in the art industry?” Segawa asked.
“He says he is.”
“Do you understand?” Suzuki asked, crossing his arms. “You’re a talented artist, but you don’t know how to do business. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Um...” Ikumi murmured, looking down. Her hands were slightly trembling.
“I’m an art manager. Everyone in the art industry knows me. I’m saying these things for your own sake, you know? Just leave everything to me and focus on creating the pieces I tell you to.”
As I was frowning at the situation, Kurishiro gallantly walked up to the man.
“Hello, my name is Kurishiro. Did I hear correctly that you’re in art management?”
“Oh, yes,” Suzuki replied, surprised by the sudden interruption. He straightened his glasses. “Are you a painter too? I’m afraid I only supervise works that I personally enjoy. It may be my job, but art is about aesthetics. If you’d like my advice, please show me—”
“No.” Kurishiro shook her head. “I’m not an artist. I’m an appreciator of art, just like you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t lump us in the same category,” Suzuki muttered with a sneer.
Kurishiro’s smile didn’t falter. “You said ‘art is about aesthetics,’ right?”
“Yes, and?”
“I would think that Ikumi feels the same way. Even if your ideas are good from a business perspective, she wants to follow her own aesthetic.”
“You just don’t get it,” Suzuki said in an exaggerated tone. “The reason Japanese painters can’t make a living is that they lack the ability to represent themselves. They have low self-esteem and can’t even price their own art properly. That’s why they need agents.”
Despite his disagreeable attitude, he was correct in what he was saying. Japanese people were too humble, so they tended to undervalue their own work.
Hearing the word “agents” reminded me of a conversation I’d had with Holmes on Christmas night. He’d mentioned starting a new job, and when I’d asked what it was, he’d said, “I’m going to be an agent.” Did he mean Ensho’s agent? That would explain why he’d said the other day that he’d been rejected. Ensho hadn’t taken his offer.
“Yes,” Kurishiro said, her voice bringing me back to the present. “I agree. Artists, especially Japanese creators, may need the help of agents. However, it isn’t good to force your ideas on an artist just because you’re their fan or have knowledge. The artist must want to work with the agent and vice versa.”
Hearing those words, I felt bitter. What kind of person had Ensho chosen as his partner?
“Most of all, artists are sensitive,” she continued in a firm tone. “There are cases where they quit due to external pressure.”
“What?” Suzuki’s eyes widened. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m evil. Do you know how much I care about her? How much I’ve supported her?”
“Asking those questions only proves that you’re imposing your will on her.”
“You don’t know anything, so stop acting like you do! You’re just a casual art fan, aren’t you? One of those girls who treats museums as a trend to follow? I’m an authority in the art world. Everyone knows me. So shut your mouth.”
Kurishiro frowned and stared at him.
“Wh-What?” he asked.
“Sorry, you say you’re an authority in the art world, but I don’t remember seeing you. Where do you work?” she asked with a serious expression.
Suzuki looked around in a panic. “I-I’m the president of the Japan Association for Arts Management.”
“I know the current president and you’re not him,” Kurishiro replied immediately.
The man’s eyes widened for a second before he laughed and said, “Oh, I misspoke. I meant the Japan Museum Management Academy.”
“The JMMA is also headed by someone else.”
“Huh?” Suzuki froze.
Kurishiro took her business card out of her pocket and showed it to him. “My name is Yuki Kurishiro, and I’m the deputy director of the Kyoto National Museum. I’m on the board of directors at the Japan Museum Management Academy and the Japanese Association of Museums. I’m also a member of the Japanese Council of Art Museums and the International Association of Art Critics, among others. But I’m afraid I don’t recall seeing you before.”
Upon taking her business card, Suzuki’s face went pale.
“Going back to what I was saying earlier, I do agree that artists need management,” Kurishiro continued. “However, if they themselves are not asking for it, the only thing we can do is support them without getting in their way. If, one day, she asks for your opinion, that’s when you reach out to her for the first time. Isn’t that how a true fan should be?”
Suzuki turned around without a word and left the gallery. Ikumi fell to her knees as if all her strength had left her body.
“Are you all right?” Kurishiro asked.
“Sorry,” Ikumi said, placing a hand on her chest. “He was a good person at first, but then he started laying on the pressure, and he’s been really scary lately. Thank you so much, Kurishiro. I can’t fight back when he’s demanding things from me like that. Thank goodness he left.”
The deputy director sighed and looked out the window to watch Suzuki speed-walk away. “It’s been an issue in the industry recently. An increasing number of people are approaching young artists and giving them unwanted advice, bullying them, or even sexually harassing them. Some call them ‘gallery stalkers.’ And there really are artists who quit because of them.” She held out her hand for Ikumi, who took it and stood up. “Contact me if you need help again.” She offered the painter her business card.
“Thank you,” Ikumi said with tears in her eyes.
“She’s so cool,” Eri, Segawa, and I said, clenching our fists.
I didn’t realize it yet, but this event would later become a major influence on my life.